


christmas in purgatory

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Benny, Purgatory, Purgatory Sex, Referenced Dean/Castiel, SPN Holiday Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-16 11:17:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: In Purgatory, every minute not spent fighting is a gift. Benny is grateful for each and every one of those minutes, but they start to mean a little more when he has Dean to share them with.





	christmas in purgatory

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy to present my entry for this year's Holiday Mixtape challenge! Went with something a little different this year, and I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thank you so much to my dear Aceriee, who drew some _gorgeous_ art for this piece at the last minute. I'm blown away by the results, and please make sure to leave her some love and appreciation on the [AO3 post](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060225) or [tumblr post](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/hmt18cip). Thanks also to Anna for reading this over for me, as always.
> 
> A note on the referenced Dean/Castiel: Castiel does not appear in this story, though he is mentioned several times. Dean explicitly acknowledges that there is something between them, but it's implied that nothing has been acted upon. Basically, Dean and Cas are in love, but so are Dean and Benny, and it's the latter couple we're exploring here.

In Purgatory, every minute not spent fighting is a gift. Benny is grateful for each and every one of those minutes, but they start to mean a little more when he has Dean to share them with. 

At first, it was easy to tell himself it was just business. That his only interest in Dean was in how he could use him to get out of this damned place, how he could finally make his way back topside and get the revenge he craved more fiercely than blood.

But even then, he was lying to himself. Because the first thing he noticed, drawn to that clearing by the sound of a blade hitting flesh, wasn’t the fact that Dean was human. It was the fact that he was the most beautiful thing Benny had seen in years, a bright spot in the perpetual gloom of Purgatory. 

The humanity, and what it meant for his chance to escape, he only noticed later.

Now, he can barely separate the two. Benny hasn’t had much time for philosophy lately-- Purgatory doesn’t exactly lend itself well to quiet introspection-- but with Dean to watch his back, he can let his mind wander away from the creatures around them and wrestle with some deeper questions. Like whether Dean’s humanity is what makes him shine so fiercely in a world of monsters, or whether he would shine equally bright in the world above. Benny has no proof of it, at least not yet, but he’s willing to bet it’s the latter.

Just his luck, that the first human he’d encounter down here would be one who would send him spinning out of control in a way he’s only ever done once before. And look where that landed him.

“Hey,” Dean says, coming to a sudden halt. “Look.”

Benny drops into a crouch, eyes scanning the trees for signs of movement. They’ve been traveling together for a few months now, probably, though it’s hard to be certain. Time moves strangely in Purgatory, the eerie grey light blending the days together and the unpredictable weather patterns throwing any notion of seasons right out the window. One day will feel like the peak of summer only without the sun, and the next will be bitter cold, tree branches creaking in the wind. He’s learned to trust Dean over that time, to follow his lead. But now, he can’t identify a threat.

“No.” Dean shakes his head, motioning for Benny to stand back up. “Look.”

This time he points upwards as he says it, and Benny does as instructed. Fluffy flakes of snow are falling from the sky, settling over the bare branches and the rough ground. One lands on Benny’s cheek, startling him with its cold. 

“Snow will just make it easier to track us,” he points out. 

“God, you’re a pessimist,” Dean mutters. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting the snowflakes drift onto his upturned face. Benny takes a moment to admire him, shameless, the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the long smooth stretch of his neck. His hands flex at his side, and he draws in a sharp breath. He wants so fiercely it aches.

“We ought to keep moving,” he says. Curt, commanding. 

Dean opens his eyes, and his mouth tightens. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

They move on in silence, and Benny brushes the snow from his coat, shaking it away like bad memories.

It isn’t until they’ve made camp for the night, taking shelter in the bend of a massive fallen tree, that Dean mentions it again. “Does it snow here often?” he asks, staring up at the sky. The snow has slowed, but a few lazy flakes still drift down towards them.

It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that this is still relatively new to Dean. He’s taken to Purgatory so well, to the endless fighting and constant vigilance, to the long days of traipsing through the woods barely knowing if you’re making any progress at all. But compared to how long Benny has been here, he’s still a new arrival, and it stands to reason there’d be something to surprise him eventually.

“Sometimes,” Benny answers. “I stopped noticing it.”

Dean shakes his head at him, eyes glinting in the light of the small fire they’ve built. It’s a risk, advertising their position like this, but they agreed early on that it was worth it. “Wonder what it’s like back home,” he says quietly, and Benny’s heart gives a painful lurch in his chest. Dean doesn’t talk about it often, but Benny knows he’s got people he cares about up there. His brother, a few friends they’ve made and managed to keep over the years. 

He isn’t like Dean. Benny has no one left to miss him, no one left to miss. Just memories that are slowly dissolving into the fog of Purgatory and a desire for vengeance that drives him forward and led him here. To Dean. 

“We’re going to find out soon,” he says, and it sounds weak even to his own ears. They’re not supposed to be soft with each other. That isn’t what this is.

He sees Dean freeze, sees the way his hands twist around the hilt of his blade. “Yeah,” Dean says, “Sure. As soon as we find Cas.”

And that’s the piece of this that Benny still can’t explain. An angel. In Purgatory. He’s always been open to the idea of all sorts of creatures out there, but angels-- it’s too much to believe, sometimes. He probably wouldn’t believe it from anyone else.

But the way Dean’s face changes when he talks about Castiel, the way he draws into himself and lights up at the same time, speaks to a truth that Benny can’t deny. There is an angel here in these endless woods, and if Benny ever wants a chance to get out of here, they’re going to have to find him first. 

“Right,” he says. And that’s all they say as Dean’s eyes slowly drift closed and Benny settles in more comfortably against the roots of the tree, looking out past the fire and wondering if the angel is out there somewhere, some small part of him hoping he isn’t.

It snows again a few days later, but this time it’s accompanied by a howling wind that stings their faces and pierces through their layers. Benny notices the way Dean grits his teeth as they fight forward, and they’ve gone hours without running into any of their neighbours, friendly or otherwise. There’s no sense pushing forward in this weather. 

“There’s a cave not far from here,” he calls, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. “Unless somebody else got to it first, it’ll make a good place to wait out this storm.”

Dean shakes his head, and Benny blows out an exasperated breath. “You go on ahead, then,” he says. “I ain’t struggling through this crap.”

It’s an empty threat, and they both know it. But the fact that Benny bothered to make it anyway must knock some sense into Dean, because he grimaces and follows along as Benny leads him towards the cave he’s taken shelter in a few times before. Miraculously, no one else has found it yet, and once they’ve checked every nook and cranny, they drag downed branches across the front to screen them from the wind and also give them some protection from anyone trying to get in.

By the time Benny has completely covered the entrance, Dean has sprawled out on the hard dirt floor, arms wrapped around himself. They can’t risk a fire with nowhere for the smoke to go, but for now, being out of the wind is relief enough. “I hate this place,” Dean declares. He kicks at a small rock on the ground beside him, and Benny has to fight back a smile at his petulance.

“It’s Purgatory, brother,” he says with a shrug. “What did you expect, concierge and room service?”

“Didn’t expect attitude from a friggin’ vampire,” Dean shoots back, but he’s got a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth now that takes any sting out of his words. 

He’s gorgeous like this, sharp as always but playful rather than deadly. Benny swallows roughly and drops to the ground, putting a careful distance between them. “Send a letter to the management,” he advises, folding his hands behind his head. “I’m sure they’ll take care of it right away.”

Dean lets out a snort of amusement. “Maybe in those high class places you stayed in,” he says. They’ve talked a bit about their lives upstairs, how Benny made his money robbing boats and how Dean made his hustling pool and running credit card scams. There’s no room for judgment between them. “I tell you what, though, most of the crap motels I ever slept in look mighty fine from here.”

“I don’t even remember what a pillow feels like,” Benny says, the words escaping his mouth before he can pull them back, rein them in. “Been nothing but rocks and cold earth for too long.”

It’s an admission of weakness, but Dean doesn’t scoff at him for it. He meets Benny’s eyes across the cold air between them and asks, “How long has it been?”

They’ve never gotten into specifics before. It’s never mattered. What they needed to know, it’s been so they understand one another, so they know their skills and limitations and experience. Just business. But this-- this feels personal, and not just because the cave is dark and dim and feels like a refuge at the end of the world. Because Dean is asking, and if he’s asking, it’s because he cares.

The enormity of it settles over Benny like a blessing he isn’t sure he deserves.

“I died in 1963,” he says. “So you tell me.”

There’s a long pause before Dean answers. “Fifty years,” he says. “Fuck.”

It’s less than Benny expected, somehow. It feels like he’s spent centuries down here. Fifty years… he was dead even before Dean was born. They never would have crossed paths in the world above. 

“Yeah, well, it would be a lot longer if you hadn’t gotten yourself stuck here,” he says, shrugging. “So thanks.”

Dean laughs, but Benny feels his eyes on him, considering, for a long time after that. They cover the entrance with jangling scraps of metal and glass from their blades to rig a makeshift alarm, and for once, they both settle down to sleep at the same time. Out of sheer force of habit, Benny waits until Dean’s breathing has evened out before he allows himself to drift off. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes, but what he does know is that he’s warmer than he’s felt in years. Blinking back to awareness, he soon realizes why: Dean is curled up against his side, head resting right where his chest meets his shoulder. He can’t tell which of them moved in their sleep, or if they both rolled towards each other, lured by the promise of shared warmth. He desperately hopes it’s the latter, because the implications of either of them being alone in this are too much for him to wrap his head around.

Dean wakes slowly, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. He rubs his face against Benny’s chest and Benny bites back an oath, holding himself perfectly still. Finally, Dean opens his eyes and raises his head, comprehension slowly dawning on his face. 

He stares down at Benny, but doesn’t immediately pull away. A muscle jumps in his jaw, and finally, he says, “It’s cold.”

It’s an explanation, an apology, and beneath that, it’s also a question. So Benny just nods and says, “Yeah, it is,” and that’s that. Dean lets out a slow breath and drops his head back down onto Benny’s chest, where he can surely hear the thunderous pounding of his heart. He doesn’t comment on it, though, just curls in closer, a long line of warmth against Benny’s side. _Just business_ , Benny thinks to himself as he carefully reaches out one arm to wrap it around Dean. _Just for warmth_.

He’s a damn liar, and he knows that for sure. But when Dean sighs against him and throws one leg over his, Benny starts to wonder if maybe Dean is just as much of a liar as he is.

The third time it snows, Dean just lets out a long sigh and wipes the flakes from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Always winter, never Christmas,” he mutters under his breath.

Benny’s gotten used to the borrowed phrases from movies he hasn’t seen, but he knows that line, remembers reading that book and marveling at the idea of another world. “This is no Narnia,” he replies, and the slow smile of approval Dean gives him sends his heart fluttering like a bird with a broken wing. “I don’t think Aslan is coming to save us.”

“Maybe not,” Dean agrees. “I used to read those books to Sammy when we were kids. He was obsessed with the idea of Turkish Delight after, and it wasn’t an easy thing to find, most of the places we were passing through. Finally found it for him, and turns out, he hated it.”

“Kids,” Benny sighs, and Dean smiles at him again. They walk in silence for a few more minutes before Benny speaks again. “It could be, you know.”

“Could be what?”

“Could be Christmas.” Benny shrugs, sweeping a hand at the vast forest around them. “How the hell would we know?”

He means it as a joke, wants to see Dean smile again, wants to hear his laugh ring through the woods. But instead, Dean turns thoughtful. “Yeah, you’ve got a point,” he says. “I don’t even know how long I’ve been down here.”

“You make a big deal out of Christmas, back upstairs?” Ever since that night in the cave, Benny’s gotten bolder about asking questions. Dean doesn’t volunteer information easily, but if you get him talking, he’ll tell all sorts of stories, and Benny is hungry for all of them, for all of him. 

“Nah, not really.” Dean gives a brief shake of his head, focused on their surroundings. It’s been quiet lately-- too quiet. They’re both on edge, waiting for an ambush. “Last time we really did anything was-- well, it was the year I went to Hell.”

That’s one thing Benny won’t ask about. Even though they’re standing in Purgatory, Hell seems too fanciful, too unreal to him. And he knows that’s a luxury he has that Dean doesn’t. Besides, talking about Hell would only lead to talking about Castiel, and the angel is another subject Benny won’t press Dean on. Out of respect or out of cowardice, he isn’t quite sure.

“I remember my last Christmas,” he says instead. “Spent it in a tiny town on the coast of Maine, curled up safe and warm in a little cabin. We had enough money to go anywhere, but we liked it there. It was quiet, and it was peaceful, and you could see the stars so bright in that sky.” He swallows heavily, an unfamiliar burn in the back of his throat. “I thought we could stay there forever.”

He closes his eyes, a foolish thing to do in a place like this, where danger lurks behind every bend in the path. He hears a branch snap underfoot and his eyes fly open just in time to meet Dean’s, scant inches away from his own. Benny inhales, Dean exhales, and then Dean’s hands are on his face, pulling him closer until their lips meet.

Benny has imagined this moment. Of course he has. He never expected it to actually happen anywhere other than in his mind, though. He always thought, if it did happen, it would be quick and rough, dirty and stripped bare like Purgatory itself. Somehow, he thought he could handle that.

But this-- the surprising softness of Dean’s lips, the warmth of his callused hands on his face, the way the world dims around them-- he doesn’t know how to handle this. All he can do is take the gift he’s being given and offer back everything he has in return.

Dean starts to pull away, and Benny chases him with soft, short kisses, nipping lightly at his full lower lip until Dean laughs, breathless, and deepens the embrace once more. Dean kisses with practiced ease but Benny doesn’t care, doesn’t care about how many other people he’s done this with, because he’s the only one here now and Dean chose this, chose him, and that’s all Benny has ever wanted. 

Finally, he lets him go. Dean’s cheeks are flushed and he pulls his swollen lower lip between his teeth, looking up at Benny through lowered lashes. “I’m not sorry,” he says, defiant and beautiful.

“Ain’t nothing to be sorry for,” Benny murmurs. “Except maybe for leaving our fool selves open to any old monster passing through while we were otherwise engaged.”

Dean grins at that, eyes sparkling, and if Benny didn’t know it before, he knows it now: he’ll never meet anyone else who can take his breath away just by being purely, absolutely themself. “Let them come,” Dean says, hand sliding to the blade at his waist. “Nothing we can’t handle together.”

Benny shakes his head and reels him in for one more kiss before they move on. That single word echoes in his head: _together_. Up in the real world, it could mean something else entirely. It could mean going out for dinner, coming home to each other, meeting family and friends. Purgatory changes the meaning of everything. Here, _together_ is just a fact of their lives. Dean and Benny, together. 

He likes the sound of it so much that it scares him.

They don’t kiss again that night, but Benny doesn’t mind. Dean said he isn’t sorry, and Benny believes him. In this, at least, he’s being honest. They argue over who will take first watch the way they always do, a familiar, comforting ritual. When it’s decided that Dean will stay up, he drops to the ground beside Benny and tugs him down until his head rests on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. Dean leans over and presses a brief kiss to his forehead, and Benny falls asleep feeling more safe, more secure, than he ever has before.

They run into a Leviathan the next day.

Fortunately, it’s alone, which gives them the edge. It’s fast and it’s strong and it taunts them, but Dean is grim and determined and Benny would do anything for him, so it isn’t long before he has the thing pinned, its head thrashing wildly as it fights to swallow him down with that gaping mouth. Benny isn’t exactly in a position to judge, but that is far too many teeth for one monster to possess.

Dean has his blade in hand, ready to sever the Leviathan’s head from its body, when it pulls its mouth back to normal and gasps out, “Wait!”

“Kill it,” Benny says tersely. It isn’t fighting now, but he doesn’t trust it. If they wait, and some of its friends show up--

“You’re looking for the angel,” the Leviathan continues, an oily grin spreading across its features. “So are we. Why not work together?”

“I don’t work with monsters,” Dean says flatly.

The Leviathan giggles, a high-pitched sound that makes Benny wince. “You’re working with him,” it says, rolling its eyes to look at Benny. “More than working with, from what I’ve heard.”

Benny presses down harder and it lets out a pained grunt. “Kill it,” he repeats. He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear Dean say how it’s just business, even if that was what he told himself at the beginning. 

“Tell us where the angel is, and I’ll make this quick.” Dean is at his most frightening when he’s like this, cold and sharp and terse. Even Benny, a predator himself, feels a shiver of fear run up his spine, the shiver of one who knows they’re staring death in the eyes.

“I don’t know,” the Leviathan says. “But what I do know is this: the second you find him, you’re done for.” It looks up at Benny and shakes its head in mock sorrow. “Better run while you still can, Fangs. We’ve got no quarrel with you.”

“Funny,” Benny says, “because I’ve for damn sure got one with you.” He slides back and swings his blade down with all his might, severing the Leviathan’s head from its body.

His chest is heaving as he gets to his feet, and he doesn’t look Dean in the eye. He just leaves the corpse there and turns back in the direction they were headed.

“It might have told us something,” Dean says a few minutes later. “I could have gotten it to talk.”

“It didn’t know anything,” Benny replies. “It was just trying to save its own miserable hide.”

“You don’t know that.” Dean stops him with a hand on his elbow, jaw tight with displeasure. “Now we have no leads on where to find Cas.”

Benny flinches at the sound of that name on Dean’s lips, and Dean notices. His hand drops from Benny’s elbow and he takes a step back, something shadowed flashing through his eyes. “Did you--” he says, swallowing roughly-- “did you do that on purpose?”

It takes Benny a moment to understand, and then he draws back, stung. “No,” he says. “No, of course not.”

“You’ve never thought this was a good idea,” Dean continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wanted to head straight for the portal without getting Cas first. Don’t deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to deny it.” Benny matches his glower with one of his own. “Doesn’t mean I would deliberately sabotage your chances of finding your--”

He stops there, because he’s afraid of what will happen no matter what word he chooses. And he curses himself for a fool for it, for walking into this knowing Dean’s got someone else on his mind. Someone he’s trying desperately to get back to, someone he has years of history with that Benny can never hold a candle to. 

“Hey.” Dean’s hand is on his arm again, softer this time. Benny forces himself to look up, to meet his eyes, because maybe that Leviathan was right. Maybe he should run while he still has a chance. 

But Dean just lets out a deep breath and says, “I know it isn’t fair of me. Asking you to help me find Cas when you and me…” he trails off, shrugging slightly. “But I don’t know what I’m doing here, man. There’s you and there’s Cas and there’s this place, and I just want--” he lets out a shuddering breath and slowly leans forward until his forehead is resting on Benny’s shoulder, words muffled. “I’m not going to lie to you. There’s always going to be something with me and Cas. But that doesn’t make what’s here, with us, any less real.”

It’s more than Benny could ask for. It’s more than enough. He reaches down and tugs Dean’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. Dean melts against him, and Benny wraps him in an embrace and vows to treasure this for as long as it lasts.

A few days later, Dean gets hurt.

They’re outnumbered, a whole pack of werewolves against the two of them, and they’re holding their ground well until one of them gets under Dean’s guard and rakes its claws across his chest, cutting through leather and cotton into soft flesh below. Dean lets out a pained yelp, and Benny’s heart stutters in his chest.

The remaining werewolves don’t stand a chance after that. He’s methodical, efficient, dispatching them one after the other so quickly he barely notices the swing of his blade in his hand. He turns back to Dean, chest heaving, to see him looking down at the one that clawed him, his blade through its chest.

“Got him back,” Dean says. He has a smear of blood high on one cheek and one hand pressed to the wound in his torso, a shaky smile on his face. 

Benny drops his blade and crosses the clearing in two swift steps, pulling Dean’s jacket and shirt aside to get a closer look at the wound. “Benny, hey, I’m okay,” Dean protests, but Benny won’t be dissuaded.

“We need to clean this,” he says. They have no idea what happens if Dean dies here-- fortunately, they’ve never come close to finding out. Not until now.

Dean continues to grumble at him, but he’s pale beneath the dirt and grime streaked on his face and his hands tremble slightly as Benny leads him towards the stream that winds its way through these woods. The water is cold, and Dean flinches as Benny pours a steady trickle of it over his bared skin. “Sorry, cher,” Benny murmurs, passing the back of his hand over Dean’s cheek and wiping away some of the blood there. “Sorry.”

Rather than replying, Dean just gazes up at him with wide eyes as he continues to wash the scratches. They’re not as deep as Benny feared, and relief washes over him like the water does over Dean’s skin, cool and cleansing. He keeps going until Dean finally lays a hand on his arm and says, “I’m okay.”

Benny lets out a shaky sigh and sits back on his heels. “I wasn’t quick enough,” he says.

“Hey.” Dean tightens his grip on his arm. “This was not your fault.”

“I’m supposed to be watching your back.”

“You were fighting off four of them at once,” Dean points out. “Benny. Stop. I’m fine.” He buttons his shirt back up and dips a hand into the stream, splashing water over his face. “I’ve had way worse, you know.”

“I know,” Benny answers quietly. “But I didn’t have to see that.”

Dean pauses, lowers his hand back to his side. Opens his mouth, then shakes his head. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “I know.”

When they make camp that night, he lets Benny fuss over him, checking the scratches on his chest again and making sure they’re scabbing over cleanly. He doesn’t even protest when Benny insists on taking the first watch, and just curls up with his head in Benny’s lap, one fist balled up under his chin. He looks softer in sleep, and Benny looks away, not needing another reminder of his vulnerability. Losing Dean would break him in a way that fifty years in this place hasn’t yet managed to do.

Benny isn’t about to let that happen, not on his watch.

Dean wakes a few hours later, shifting restlessly in Benny’s arms. Benny had intended to let him sleep all night and brush off his protests in the morning, but as usual, Dean throws a wrench into his plans. “Hey,” Dean mumbles, pulling himself into a seated position. “Any activity out there?”

“No--” Benny starts to say, and is cut off by the warm press of Dean’s lips against his.

He can’t do a thing but kiss him back, even knowing it means they’re leaving themselves unguarded again. Dean is shameless, trailing his lips down the side of Benny’s neck, under the curve of his ear, over the bolt of his jaw. Mindful of his wounds, Benny just wraps his hands around Dean’s waist and hauls him into his lap, delighted at the way Dean spreads his legs on either side of him without breaking their kiss. 

There’s a hunger to it that they’ve kept carefully banked until now. Maybe it’s the fright of seeing Dean take those claws across his chest, maybe it’s the silence of the night, but they don’t pull back, don’t rein in their desire the way they’ve gotten used to doing. Dean’s hands are sliding up Benny’s chest, pulling his shirt free from his pants and hungrily seeking the bare skin beneath. It’s been so long since he’s been touched in this way that Benny shudders, and Dean pauses.

“Is this okay?” he asks, mouth still close to Benny’s ear. His breath is a warm tickle, a slight hitch to it that indicates he’s far from unaffected himself.

“Yeah,” Benny manages. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Dean grins at him then, teeth flashing white in the darkness. He leans forward and kisses Benny again, hands moving down between them to reach into his pants and tug his cock free.

Benny groans at the first touch of Dean’s rough hand on his hard length. It’s dry at first, but he doesn’t care, too lost in the sensation. His head tips back against the trunk of the tree behind him with a thunk, and Dean laughs softly as he twists his hand in a particularly clever way. “You’re gorgeous,” he breathes into Benny’s ear. 

No one has ever said anything like that to him before. He isn’t quite sure what to make of it, so he kisses Dean to shut him up. It works surprisingly well. Dean works him with clever fingers, teasing over the head and then all along the shaft, and Benny is lost. He wrenches his mouth away from Dean’s and bites down hard on his own lip as he comes, hot and messy all over Dean’s hand.

Dean kisses him through it, soft and sweet now that the initial rush has faded. But Benny can still feel him, pressed hard against his thigh, and he wants nothing more than to give Dean everything, all of himself, if that’s what Dean wants. So he slides down until he’s lying flat on his back, Dean still straddling him, then tugs sharply on his hips to guide him forward. “C’mere,” he whispers.

“Benny--” Dean says, a slight hitch in his breath. “You sure--”

He’s already shifting his hips forward as he asks, and even in the dark Benny can see the desperate desire shining in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Want to taste you.”

With a strangled groan, Dean crawls up Benny’s body until he’s straddling his chest. He fumbles with the zipper on his jeans and pulls himself out, looking down with darkened eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth as Benny darts his tongue out to dance across the tip.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers, one hand reaching out to rub lightly against Benny’s cheekbone. 

That’s all the encouragement Benny needs to swallow him down, the weight of him unfamiliar but far from unpleasant on his tongue. He’s generously sized and hard as nails, and Benny savours every minute thrust of his hips, every tiny noise he lets slip past his lips, not knowing if they’ll ever get a chance to do this again. If he had it his way, they’d have a proper bed and no monsters at the door and he’d have hours to make Dean fall apart over and over again, but this is what they have and Benny will just have to make the best of it. 

Dean has one hand braced against the trunk of the tree above them, the other pressed to his mouth to keep himself quiet. Benny wishes he could let go, let himself give voice to his pleasure, but the more subtle indicators of Dean’s enjoyment are enough to guide him.

“Benny,” Dean gasps out as his hips stutter, stomach tensing. “I’m going to--”

He moves as though to pull away, but Benny places a hand at his waist and keeps him there. With one last sharp thrust, Dean comes into Benny’s mouth, salty-warm- _alive_. Benny swallows him down and rubs soothing circles into his side until Dean slides back and drapes himself over Benny’s body, looking down into his face.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he says.

Benny lets out a little laugh and lets Dean kiss him, chasing the taste of himself on his tongue. It’s surprisingly tender, and Benny almost lets his eyes drift closed before he remembers where they are, how unsafe it is. Reluctantly, he shakes Dean off his chest so they can pull their clothes back on and tidy up as best as they can. “Go back to sleep,” he says when they’re done. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean lets out a snort and tugs Benny down beside him. “All’s fair in orgasms and sentry duty. You did your turn, now let me do mine.”

He can tell there’s no use arguing with him, so Benny just kisses him again, then curls up behind him and pulls Dean back against his chest so he can still look out past the fire. He noses at the back of his neck and Dean laughs under his breath. “Your beard tickles,” he complains.

Benny does it again, just to hear him laugh. “Didn’t hear you complaining when it was between your legs just now.”

Dean whacks his flank with the hand that isn’t currently clasped between both of Benny’s own. “Asshole,” he mutters, but with enough fondness in his voice that Benny’s chest goes tight at the sound of it. “Get some sleep, would you?”

He tries. He really does. But every time Benny closes his eyes, all he can see is that werewolf’s claws making contact with Dean’s chest. He traces lightly over the area of the scratches and says, “I’m damn glad you’re here, you know that?”

And Dean raises their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to Benny’s knuckles. “Yeah,” he replies. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but so am I.”

The next time it snows, Benny gets an idea.

Call him a romantic fool, but he’s been thinking about it for a while now. Dean was right-- it could be Christmas. Not like they’d have any way of knowing. 

So as they make their way through the woods, the gentle flakes swirling around them, he starts preparing: gathering the bright red berries that are poisonous to eat but pretty to look at, picking up pieces of glass where he finds them scattered across the forest floor. He manages to convince Dean to stop for the night earlier than usual, then sends him off to the stream to fetch water while he sets up camp. He’s chosen a spot deep in the woods, away from the path, where an enormous pine stretches proud above them. He can only reach the lowest circle of its branches, but the snow helps enhance his meager decorations, and he’s reasonably pleased with the results.

He hears a branch snap, warning him of Dean’s approach. They’re both quiet in the woods, but Benny’s hearing is sharp, and he’s learned to recognize the sound of Dean’s footsteps. He straightens up and clasps his hands behind his back, suddenly nervous. Maybe this was a bad idea--

Dean stops in his tracks, his eyes wide. He turns in a slow circle, taking in the strands of red berries in the tree branches above them, the bits of coloured glass Benny painstakingly lodged into the trunks of the trees that glitter in the weak sunlight almost like twinkling lights. 

“Benny,” he breathes, “what is this?”

“Christmas,” Benny answers. He adjusts the spray of berries he tucked into his coat pocket and holds out a matching bunch towards Dean. “Purgatory style.”

Heart in his throat, he stands perfectly still as Dean crosses the few feet between them. He reaches out and takes the berries, holding them close to his chest. “Not much to give in the way of gifts,” Benny continues, grimacing. “But it’s the closest we could get to holiday cheer.”

Dean shakes his head, a short, sharp movement. “It’s perfect,” he says fiercely. “Fuck, the last Christmas we celebrated back on Earth, we had gifts from the gas station and overloaded eggnog. This is--” he stops, looks around again, and laughs, his eyes lighting up. “This is perfect.”

He reaches out and pulls Benny in for a long, lingering kiss. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers as he draws back.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Benny says, tracing the line of his cheek with his thumb. “Wish we had some of that eggnog right about now.”

Dean laughs and lowers himself to the ground, pulling Benny down with him and prodding him until they’re wrapped up in each other’s arms, looking up at the tree with its decorations and the snow that continues to fall around them. “Let’s play a game,” he says. “If we weren’t here-- if we were back topside, and we had all the money in the world-- what would you get me for Christmas?”

“New clothes,” Benny teases. Dean rolls his eyes and pinches him, making him yelp. “Alright, alright. Let me think about it.” He lets his eyes rove over Dean’s face as he considers it. For all that Dean has become essential to him, as fixed a point to steer by as the stars that charted his ship’s path, he’s never seen Dean in the real world. Never seen him without a blade in his hand, without the weight of Purgatory on his shoulders. “Not a gift, exactly,” he says eventually. “I’d like to make you dinner. Cajun style, all the classics.”

“Pecan pie for dessert?” Dean asks, grinning.

“Whatever you want, cher.” Benny presses a kiss to the top of his head and lets himself imagine it: a little place all of their own, somewhere with a wraparound porch and a big, bright kitchen. Something sweet and slow on the radio while he cooks, while Dean wraps his arms around him from behind and pulls him into a dance. No monsters, no grand destiny, no decades-old quests for revenge. Just the two of them.

It’s a seductive thought, and Benny shakes it aside before it can plant itself too firmly in his mind. “What about you?” he asks. “What would you give me?”

Dean takes even longer to think about his answer. He twists in Benny’s arms so he’s facing him and says, so soft Benny can hardly hear him, “A cure.”

It’s something Benny has never dared to dream of for himself. All the ways he’s pictured his story ending, that isn’t one of them. “Not because I think you need it,” Dean explains. “If you say you’re on bagged blood, I believe you. But because I think it would make you happy, to be human again.”

“That’s what you want for me, then, huh?” Benny smiles at him, but he can’t quite hide the sadness in his voice. “For me to be happy?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “I do.”

And that in itself is a gift more precious than any other Benny has ever received. “You’re a good man, Dean Winchester,” he murmurs, tightening his arms around him. 

Dean laughs softly and curls in closer to Benny’s chest. “So are you.”

They don’t talk much after that. The air around them is cold, but the tall trees block the worst of the wind, and the heat of their bodies warms them through and through. They press together, skin on skin and mouth on mouth, and when Benny wraps his hand around both of their erections Dean chokes out his name in a tone he knows he’ll never forget, no matter how long he lives. Benny comes what feels like an endless moment later, and though he doesn’t say it out loud, his heart beats out the rhythm of three simple words as he does. 

Afterward, warm and sated, Dean stirs in Benny’s arms and says, “Maybe by next Christmas, we’ll be home.”

“Maybe,” Benny tells him. He brushes Dean’s hair off his forehead and places a soft kiss there. “Get some sleep, cher. I’ll keep watch.”

“Mmn.” Dean is already mostly asleep, lips softly parted as his eyes flutter closed. “Wake me when it’s my turn.”

“Sure,” Benny says, but they both know he won’t, just like they know Dean will wake in the middle of the night and scold him for it. 

It isn’t the life they want for themselves, but Benny is still grateful for it. He looks down at Dean, watching the way his chest rises and falls with his breathing, and makes himself a promise. Even if it takes everything there is in him to give, he’s going to get Dean out of here. He’s going to get him home. And if there’s a place for Benny there too, any place at all, he’s going to be grateful for that too. 

Maybe he’s asking for a miracle, but after all, that’s what Christmas is all about.


End file.
